The lullaby distorts. Monica grows more fidgety. Phantom-like, the men emerge off-stage. Three; her darting eyes count them. The biggest rocks from side to side (unseen, though he and his two accomplices cast hulking shadows)...


          "They raped me."

The synthesizer sounds its dirge... then the lullaby... the dirge... the lullaby... the dirge.

""Kill 12, 13, and 20; 6 up full. Contracting. Go."

The spotlight beam grows smaller, tighter, its edges more defined. Monica stands within it, functionally trapped. The circle shrinks further, obscuring her head and feet, which fall into shadow. The narrowed light grows more and more intense; it focuses on her belly—which magically swells. The music halts. The house goes hushed... mute except for sounds made inadvertently...

...a silence suddenly pierced by the synthesizer's OUTCRY! Follow-spot expanding... irradiating... it blinks itself black.

In total darkness, a chill pervades the audience... the stage hands... the other actors... Everyone waits for the eerie spell to break... (Will the actress deliver her lines or again lose concentration?)

A voice, constrained but audible (the counterfeit of Gillian's) at last is heard.

          "Behold an unborn baby's death; behold a mother's love that lies stillborn."

This grim pronouncement further shocks the noiseless house.

"12 through 20; up to half. And go."

Monica, once more seated, resumes her prayer.

          "If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take."


"Dim to blackout. Curtain."



"Be a sweetheart...

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